Everything You Ever
by MG12CSI16
Summary: The first time Sherlock Holmes really sees Molly Hooper for everything she is, is the day he dies.


Praise Jesus I have finally finished this monster of an angsty mess. Honestly it's been killing me and I didn't think I would ever finish it (but you'd be surprised what a night spent gorging on junk food and crying over Silver Linings Playbook can do for the thinking process).

Anyways I blame this completely on the song. I first listened to it last weekend and that combined with spending the three hours before that on tumblr and being completely exhausted and burnt out turned me into a sobbing mess by the time it was over. It was embarrassing but after that all I could think about was how this song fit Sherlolly so freaking perfectly.

OK, now please excuse my horrible mess of a life and enjoy, let me know what you think and know that I own absolute zilch. Nada. Nothing.

* * *

**Everything You Ever**

The first time Sherlock Holmes really sees Molly Hooper for everything she is, is the day he dies.

In a moment when he realizes death is eminent, the only choice if he is to be a good man and protect all he has left, her voice is the first thing that echoes in his mind and makes his heart quicken and his breath hitch. It's the only option, _she _is the only option and she is the only one he can trust now.

And right now that is the only thing she can find comfort in.

When he asks Molly to kill him, she agrees without hesitation and the next few minutes are suddenly a blur as he watches her rushing around the lab and trying to make her hands stop shaking. Every few seconds her gaze shifts and lingers on him, checking to make sure he's still there and hasn't disappeared to carry out the deed himself while she mutters to herself and she begins to wonder if she's losing her mind.

Because she's going to kill the man she loves and she doesn't even mind.

* * *

_You only know what I want you to_

_I know everything you don't want me to_

* * *

The funeral is small and she is the only one to speak among the small group who gathers around the shiny black stone in the drizzle. Mrs. Hudson cries, Lestrade looks at the ground with haunted eyes and John Watson stares a hole through her before he turns and hobbles away, the limp in his step worse than she's ever seen it before.

She's numb and she's exhausted, her hands constantly tremble now and whether it's from guilt or grief she's not sure. She comes home when the funeral is over and Sherlock is on her couch, the TV is on but he isn't listening. He only looks up when she shuts the door and for the first time since he died Molly looks into his eyes and all she sees is a broken man.

He announces he's leaving when she's in the kitchen looking for something to eat and she nearly drops the cartoon of eggs she pulls from the back. She sets them aside, offers him a small nod and a pitiful smile. She nearly loses all control when he leans down and kisses her cheek, whispering a gentle "thank you" before he's gone and she hears the door close softly.

She doesn't eat that night. Instead she lies in bed and stares at the ceiling, wondering when he'll come back, _if _he will come back.

* * *

_Your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine_

_You think your dreams are the same as mine_

* * *

He stays away for nearly eight months and when he finally shows up, he is covered in blood and a long gash runs down his side from a blade that should have killed him. Molly drops her bag when she sees him and her keys are tossed in the bowl on the table before she drops on her knees beside him and brushes his sweat soaked curls from his forehead.

"Sherlock, what happened…oh my god." She peels back his shirt, soaked in blood and reveals the cut as she holds her breath. She stands up quickly and runs to the kitchen, all the supplies she's kept just in case waiting under the sink for a moment like this.

Sherlock is nearly unconscious but it doesn't stop Molly from grimacing each time her needle pierces his skin, slowly piecing him back together. She finds bruises, some fresh and some nearly faded, scars that litter his skin and show her just how hard he's been working.

She finishes and quietly cleans up while he sleeps, her eyes constantly watching for the rise and fall of his body as if he'll suddenly stop and she will have nothing left. She scrubs her hands in the sink when she sees their stained and sticky with his blood, it's a wonder she doesn't scrub her skin off.

He's with her for three days while he heals and gains back his strength. She comes home each day and nearly forgets he's there until she opens the door and sees him curled up, sometimes sleeping and sometimes on her laptop.

There's never much conversation between them, she never knows what to say and even if she did she's almost sure he wouldn't offer much back. Still she likes the feeling of having him near.

She knows he's alive this way.

* * *

_I don't love you but I always will_

* * *

Sherlock leaves when she's asleep, in the dead of night when she's blissfully dreaming and Toby is curled into her side purring. She doesn't even stir when the window shuts and the sound of his footsteps on the fire escape echo in the dark.

* * *

_I don't love you but I always will_

* * *

She wakes up and she knows almost instantly that something is wrong, something is _different._ She jumps out of bed and tugs on her robe, socked feet sliding across the hardwood floor as she skids to a halt and sees the empty couch and a yellow piece of paper on her coffee table. She picks it up and all she sees are two simple words written in familiar, slanted handwriting.

_Thank you. –SH_

She clutches it tightly to her chest and cries. It seems silly, she knows this and she knows she has no right to cry over a man she killed but she does. She cries until she feels sick and she stumbles to the bathroom and throws up, and once again life goes on without Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

_I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back_

_The less I give, the more I get back_

* * *

John meets a woman named Mary and she and Molly bond almost instantly.

She knows that Molly was (_is_) in love with Sherlock, she can tell before Molly can even blush and deny it. She understands and some nights she sits and watches Molly cry and mourn a man that isn't really dead but everybody believes to be, because Molly killed him and she didn't even mind it.

As the months pass she spends more time with Mary and John and even Greg on occasion. They laugh and they talk and one night when they're all together having dinner Molly sees the light that had been so absent from John's eyes and she reminds herself to thank Mary for bringing him back from the edge.

They get married in the spring when the sun shines and everyone is happy and laughing and Molly even agrees to be a bride's maid. Mrs. Hudson cries, Greg cheers and Molly watches while pretending she isn't wishing Sherlock were here.

It's after midnight when she gets home and he's on her couch again, a cut dripping blood just above his eye and a deep purple bruise marking his jaw. She cries when she sees him and he just stares at the dress she's wearing as he grips a piece of paper in his hands.

She knows it's the wedding invitation.

Molly patches him up like she always does, silently and quickly. When she's done she sits on the couch beside him and he clears his throat to catch her attention.

"Is he happy?"

She nods and a few curls fall into her face. "Yes, but he still misses you. He always will."

"Do you ever miss me?"

Molly tenses but she does answer. "Of course."

That night when he thinks she's asleep the bedroom door slowly creaks open and the mattress dips down slightly under the weight. She holds her breath and waits for his to even out and for the first time in what feels like years she falls asleep and the nightmares don't come.

* * *

_Ooh, your hands can heal, your hands can bruise_

_I don't have a choice but I still choose you_

* * *

He leaves again while she's sleeping, in the early hours of the morning when the sky is still dark and the air still holds a slight chill. She rolls over to find ruffled sheets and a piece of yellow paper lying on his pillow. The same two words in the same slanted handwriting that breaks her heart without even trying.

_Thank you- SH_

Molly wants to crumble it up and throw it away but she finds that she can't bring herself to do it and it's placed in the drawer with the others before she buries her face in his pillow and swallows back her sobs.

It doesn't take long for him to show up again. This time he isn't hurt, at least not that she can see and she tries to smile at him when he walks over and sits beside her on the couch. His body is tense and he seems to have aged, the lines around his mouth and eyes more noticeable. He turns his gaze on her and it burns. It burns hotter than anything else in this world but Molly doesn't mind. She's gotten used to it by now.

"How can you look at me like that…even after everything that I've done?" the baritone of his voice is shaking but it sends a chill down her spine as she locks eyes with him.

"I don't care what you've done Sherlock. It doesn't matter, none of it _matters _as long as you come back, ok? And that's what you have to do; you have to come back for me." She doesn't notice the slip until the words have already poured from her mouth, her cheeks burning red and her fingers running desperately through her hair.

"I'm sorry that's not what I meant. I mean of course you have to come back, for John and Mrs. Hudson and everyone else-"

He stops her almost instantly when his lips collide with hers, it's quick and it's beautiful and she retaliates with as much force as he offers, hands pressed against his chest. She should be worried, she should even be afraid because Sherlock Holmes _does not _love her, he doesn't think of her like this and she knows it.

He's tired, he's lost and he's broken.

But he doesn't love her the way she loves him and she knows this, god she knows this and she still can't bring herself to tear her body away from his as they collapse on her bed and he takes her so high she wonders if she'll ever see the ground again.

Eventually she does and he falls with her until they've landed safely and his head is resting on her chest and counting her heartbeats. She runs her fingers through his curls, traces every scar and bruise she sees and wonders how the hell she fell in love with this man.

"How many?" she whispers suddenly.

"Over a dozen, closer to two."

"And how many more left?"

His answer is a breathless, cold whisper. "Too many."

* * *

_I don't love you but I always will_

* * *

It's been nearly three years since Sherlock Holmes died and Molly Hooper agreed to kill him. He's down to the last spider in Moriarty's web and then he'll come home and she will be nothing more than the pathologist who lets him in the lab and gives him the body parts she doesn't need.

She'll be nothing. And that scares the shit out of her.

* * *

_I don't love you but I always will_

* * *

Sebastian Moran comes on a Thursday when Molly comes home and finds her flat torn apart, the furniture turned over and a trail of blood leading into her kitchen. There's a blonde man standing over shards of broken glass, his smile turning her blood cold.

His eyes are dark and they are nothing like Sherlock's. They're cold and heartless and she can tell they've seen things no one should have to see, and yet she can't bring herself to look away from them. She stands a few feet away and speaks in a voice she doesn't even recognize as her own.

"Who are you?" the man laughs, head tipped back like a cartoon character as he cackles. Molly swallows the scream she feels building up inside of her.

"I'm you're worst nightmare doll." He takes a few steps closer and circles around her, ignoring the whimper that leaves her throat. "Jim was pretty lacking when he was describing you. He really didn't give you enough credit."

He stops pacing around her and moves back to the counter, picking up a bloodied dish rag and wrapping around his palm. Instinctively Molly's eyes dart to the injury and Moran's mouth curls up in another smile.

"Sorry about your glass, I get a bit antsy when I'm waiting."

Molly tries to offer him a smile but her body is out of her control, fear manipulating her in ways she's never experiences before. All she can do is stare at this man as the puzzle slowly seems to come together.

"You were waiting for me?" she asks suddenly.

Moran shakes his head. "No, you're just the bait love. I'm waiting for Holmes, because he would never leave poor little Molly Hooper so defenseless…because you do count, no matter what Jim said. I think he had a soft spot for you. Too bad really because I don't share the same sentiment, I can just imagine the look on Holmes face when he sees you dead."

Life seems to play out in slow motion after that. Like a flash of lightening Moran leaps away from the counter towards her and Molly barely has time to fling herself out of the way, crashing to the ground into the broken glass and feeling the stinging in her hand.

Before he can get up Molly is on her feet but it's only seconds before she hears the thundering of his footsteps behind her and her heart is beating so fast she's afraid it's going to burst. She manages to get to her bedroom and she wrenches open the drawer of her bedside table as her hand grips the cool metal and she pulls the gun Sherlock had given her the last time he left.

"_What do you I need this for?"_

"_It's precautionary. I can't afford to lose you, now please tell me you know how to use that?"_

Her hands shake viciously and the blood roars in her ears, the blast seems deafening and it's followed by a dull thud as Moran's body falls to the ground and a pull of dark, crimson blood begins to form beneath him.

She checks his pulse anyways.

* * *

_I don't love you but I always will_

* * *

Sherlock throws the door to Molly's flat open and everyone and everything seems to stop. Anderson is staring, and the others are unsure if they're even conscious anymore, because they are staring at a dead man and he couldn't possibly be there.

There's a silence that takes over as he marches to the kitchen, seeing John and Lestrade consoling a disheveled Molly as a medic carefully patches up her hand. They all stop when they see the detective standing in the doorway and Molly is almost sure she's never been so relieved and happy and unbelievably heartbroken as she is right now.

Unfortunately, John doesn't share these feelings and when he punches Sherlock in the face it becomes quite clear.

The next few hours are a haze for her as Sherlock explains Moriarty's game and the reason behind his death and Molly's part in it. Every now and then she gets a bewildered look from John or Greg and all she can do is say how sorry she is. In the end, they do forgive him and her as well and John wraps him a hug that Sherlock returns with as much emotion and warmth.

Molly pretends it doesn't make her chest ache.

* * *

_I don't love you but I always will_

* * *

When everyone leaves and the body is taken away Molly goes straight to bed, leaving Sherlock alone in her living room. She takes a shower and the water is so hot it nearly burns her skin, but still it seems to wash away some of the day.

She's in bed when she hears the door creak open and the mattress dips slightly under the weight. She's trying to hold back the sobs but they wrack her body and she shakes as the gasps tear from her throat and suddenly it feels like she can't breathe. She feels Sherlock's arms around her, pulling her on top of him where she buries her face in his chest and cries harder than she ever has before.

He holds her tightly and presses his lips to her hair. "I know Molly, it's alright. You're alright."

And this time she believes him. Because Sherlock Holmes is a good man and Molly Hooper knows she counts.

She always has.


End file.
